


The First Nine Months

by buttsbeyondbutts



Series: Ducktales Prequels [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Character Study, Duck angst, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, POV Donald Duck, Parent Donald Duck, Pre-Canon, Siblings, baby ducks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 19:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsbeyondbutts/pseuds/buttsbeyondbutts
Summary: Della's disappearance and it's aftermath.Basically a character study of Donald as a parent and brother.





	The First Nine Months

Della hated brooding. Months of sitting would take their toll on anyone let alone a woman who spent the twenty-two years of running and flying. Donald never relished the running, so he was happy to take over and give his sister a break.

“The doctor said they’re almost ready, so I marked them for you,” she said. Bright sharpie letters shone under the heat lamp.

“What?!” Donald jumped nearly a foot in the air. “You didn’t tell me you picked out names!” He leaned forward to read his nephews names. “Llewelyn? After that Welsh ghost?”

“I like the name. Besides, you need something to yell so they know they’re in trouble.” Della smirked. “I color coded them for your convenience. Red for Huey, Blue for Dewey, and Green for Louie. Until they’re old enough to start switching identities on us.”

Donald chuckled. “Good times.”

“Yeah,” Della’s smile faded. “Good times.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she wiped her eye with the back of her hand. “Just nesting hormones, I guess.”

“If you want to stay with the boys, I’ll go talk to the old man for you.” Donald said.

“No!” She snapped quickly. “No, Don. This is my business. Besides, you don’t need to break his glasses again. Third time and he’ll probably press charges.”

“No jury in the world would convict me,” Donald said, crossing his arms. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I wish you’d tell me what this is about, Dell. We used to tell each other everything.” He sounded like a child, but he always did, compared to Della.

“Maybe you told me everything,” Della smirked. She pulled her brother in for a tight hug. “Don’t worry, Donald. I promise I’ll tell you everything when I get back. Just look after the boys.”

“Sure thing,” he hugged her back.

Della turned to her eggs. “Be good for Uncle Donald, okay?” She chuckled at her own joke. Then her smile faded. “Mama loves you.” She kissed each egg in turn. “See you soon.”

The room fell to silence as she closed the door behind her. Pushing his worry back down, Donald turned to the eggs. “Huey, Dewey and Louie, huh?” He said with a smile. “Ready for an afternoon with your favorite uncle?”

But as the afternoon drifted into evening, Donald’s worry came roaring back. Della didn’t answer her phone. Mrs. B said she’d never shown up at the manor. None of her friends had heard anything unusual. They all said she’d be back soon enough, that he was worrying too much like he always did.

A week later, the boys hatched.

Huey came first, a pile of golden feathers, still wet from his egg. He blinked up at Donald, a bit of shell still stuck on his head.

Barely three seconds later, Dewey burst out of his shell, peeping with excitement. He wouldn’t rest until he was entirely out of his shell, eagerly exploring the nest, his brother and uncle.

Louie waited another ten seconds before poking his beak through the shell. He regarded Donald with cool calculation and glanced briefly at his brothers before rolling over in his egg, apparently fine with his cursory glance.

Dewey was far from content. He charged at his brother’s egg, smashing through the shell until Louie was completely exposed. Huey, now fully out of his egg, squirmed over to examine the others. They peeped happily, ask if introducing themselves to each other.

“Hi boys,” Donald said, not even trying to hold back the tears. “I’m your Uncle Donald. Your mom-” but he didn’t know where Della was. “Your mom and I love you.”

* * *

The boat wasn’t really meant to live on, certainly not for three kids. He’d got it cheap though, a gift from an old boyfriend, and his navy pension covered the monthly dock fee. He collected the baby clothes from Della’s apartment. The boys settled in, three to a hammock, and Donald tried to find a better job. He wouldn’t have to take anything from Scrooge.

Donald hadn’t seen his uncle for months, not since he confronted him about Della. Mrs. B had checked the security footage at his request and discovered Della breaking into the manor via the garage.

 _“Nonsense!”_ Scrooge said with a scoff. _“She would nae steal from me! Not unless-“_

He suddenly stood up and ran deep into the basement. Donald followed, leaving the boys to climb over Mrs. Beakley. He found Scrooge inside his personal treasure vault, holding a faded scrap of paper. Wordlessly, he handed it to Donald.

_“What’s the Spear of Selene?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“What?! Why did she take it?! Where did she take it?!”_

_“I. don’t. know._ ” Scrooge said again. _“It was priceless… and powerful according to the legends… but no one knew what the blasted thing did.”_

 _“Della must have found out.”_ Scrooge nodded, and Donald’s head spun. _“Why wouldn’t she tell me?”_

 _“I don’t know._ ” Scrooge said, standing up. _“But if she could find out, so can I! Come on!”_ He snatched the letter from Donald’s hands and sped off to the library.

_“I have to watch the boys!”_

_“So leave them with Beakley!_ ” Scrooge didn’t stop to say where he was going or even look back at Donald. Just like Della. Donald gathered his nephews and returned to the houseboat. The boys had been left enough for one life time.

They changed everything. Before Huey, Dewey and Louie, Donald would have dropped everything to chase after Della, no matter how much he argued with Scrooge. Even now, his fingers inched for the helm, but he wouldn’t know where to start. He had three tiny creatures depending on him. Della had seen to that, she could take care of herself.

He hoped she could take care of herself.

She’d better take care of herself, so he could kill her when she got back.

Sometimes the boys slept on top of him. Their needs were simple enough. Dewey could usually be quieted by picking him up, all he wanted was attention. Huey clung to anything: Donald, his red blanket, his brothers, whatever object was in arm’s length. Louie- god bless Louie- slept most of the day. He only cried when he was hungry, or when his brothers got too loud.

They kept him busy, kept him sane. Only went all the boys were quiet, just before sleep claimed him, could he really think about Della.

If she got back from whatever insane adventure took her away from the boys. Donald couldn’t imagine anything more important than her children. She had planned to leave them, apologized to Scrooge of all people but not her sons. If she chose to leave them, if she chose to stay away, Donald couldn’t imagine even looking at her again.

If she couldn’t come back, he never would.

Their birthday snuck up on him. About nine months after Della left, Dewey was already stumbling around, and Donald turned 23. He had nearly bashed his own head in at least five times. Della was just like him, always going somewhere. Donald had just scooped him away from the boats edge when the mail arrived.

Balancing Dewey on his hip, Donald flicked through the mail one handed, describing them to his nephew. “Bill, bill, bill, oh.”

A bright postcard with _Viva Brasil!_ imposed over a lush jungle distracted the baby from the call of the wa _ter._

_Hola Donald y Feliz Cumpleaños!_

_When is your next shore leave? José and I are in Rio for the moment pero we will be exploring the Amazon in December. Can you join us? We miss our caballero dearly!_

_Love,_

_Panchito_

Donald smiled. Dewey grabbed for the postcard. "That's from Tío Panchito, Dewey," he explained. "Him and Tío José are mis gay caballeros. Can you say caballero?"

"Bah!" Said Dewey.

"Close enough." Donald said, just as Huey let out a piercing screech. _Probably just hungry,_ Donald told himself as he raced inside.

Inside, Huey sat in the middle of the play pen wailing. Louie lay on his back, staring at the ceiling mobile. Dewey, observing his brothers, decided he needed to start crying too. “Shh,” Donald let the postcard drop to the floor as he lift Huey up onto his hip. “What’s the matter? You hungry, Huey?”

The books all said to establish regular feeding times but watching triplets was like fighting the Beagle boys. You had to do everything as fast as you could. Huey grabbed his face and sobbed quietly as he waddled to the refrigerator. “I got to put one of you down,” Donald said. Huey might have been welded onto him so Dewey went down on the table. Donald grabbed three bottles from the fridge and turned back just in time to catch Dewey before he hit the floor.

Then Louie started to cry. It took Donald fifteen minutes to get all the boys situated, with bottles in their beaks. He crashed into his armchair, feeling like crying himself. “Happy Birthday to me,” he muttered, cradling the boys against him. He glanced to the photo on the mantle. “Happy Birthday, Della.”

He should write Panchito back. His caballeros would come racing. At least then he'd have three sets of hands to take care of the boys. 

He'd also have to explain why he suddenly had three boys.  He'd have to tell them his sister abandoned her family or she was dead. He didn't want to admit to either one. 

No, better to focus on the boys than wonder about Della. They were his next adventure. 

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a heck of a week so I'm turning to Duck angst. Please comment. 
> 
> (I did way too much research trying to figure out how anthropomorphic ducks would be as infants- just mashing together human and duck tropes for my beautiful boys)


End file.
